Choices
by Magali1
Summary: Tyra walks someone through some choices with the help of a couple friends. Fluffy-ish future fic, but with a bit of an angst situation. Tyra POV. One-Shot.


**A/N:**No idea where this came from. I was stuck writing "Seeking Shelter" (no, I haven't forgotten that story) and then this popped into my head, so here it is. Enjoy :)

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**_Battered, Broken Things_**

"Where are we going?"

That's the tenth time you've asked me that, Tyra thought, loosely draping her arm over her steering wheel. She had refused to answer the boy sitting in her passenger seat for the last four hours. It was a long drive through nothing from the state juvenile correctional facility to her hometown. She hadn't said a word, despite young Travis Whitmore's constant questioning. Travis was roughly two months shy of his eighteenth birthday. She loved kids who were that young but thought they'd seen the world.

Maybe he had, but right now she knew the wheels were turning. He was calculating how far from his house they were, how far from school, and how far from the juvenile facility. Wondering where she was taking him, because all she'd done was go to check on him, decided that his time was up, and checked him out. She cleared her throat, her voice soft. "You were released due to overcrowding. Non-violent offenders such as yourself serve up to 10 to 20% of their actual mandated court time." All he needed was scared straight, he thought he was tough, but she'd seen tough. He was, but…but he wasn't a criminal.

He laughed. "Seriously? So I can go back to my friends?"

No, absolutely not, she thought with a tiny smile. That was the question they always asked. I can go back to my friends, right? Usually their friends were the real problem. "You now get a few choices." She called it Tyra Colette's Russian Roulette for Juvenile Offenders. It was a series of…options, she thought. She presented them with choices and it was up to them to take it. Did they want to play? To take a chance on their life? Most of them, she was pleased to discover, took the chance.

"What choices?" Travis demanded. You'll see, she thought, moving the car off the highway and began to weave her way through town. It wasn't a happy move, apparently, to Travis. He sneered. "The fuck are we doing in White Dillon?"

"The fuck are we doing in West Dillon," she corrected.

"To you."

"And to you, there's no split between the cities anymore," she said. It was just a regional thing now. She ignored his cursing as they passed the local church. Don't worry, that's not one of your choices. Well, in a manner of speaking. She knew that he was getting nervous. He had to prove to the state that he had a job, he had to attend meetings, and he still wasn't out of the woods. He had no real friends, they were all in his old crew and he'd gotten popped before them.

Nonviolent crimes, he'd barely missed the distinction. He was about an hour from joining his friends for an armed robbery when he'd gotten stopped and the cops had found the cocaine on him. He insisted that he was just holding it for his brother, but it was his brother that she sadly had to keep him from. He was a good kid; he just had made some bad choices. She could tell he was going to try; he had siblings who depended on him too.

And so you get to play the game, she thought, driving out onto a long dirt road. The sun was beginning to set, painting the large expanse of plains in red and orange. It had been a very dry summer and everything was dry and yellowed. Even though it was one of their coldest winters yet. She wished the heater on her damn government-issued car worked better. It was freezing. "Where are we going? My house isn't near here," Travis whispered. He seemed nervous; well you should be, she thought.

You should be very nervous, she thought again, turning onto another dirt road, leading out to a large construction project. It was going to be a series of houses. Not a complete subdivision, but pretty much. She glanced at him. "Come on," she said, when she'd parked behind a large black Silverado. She got out and pointed to him, her voice hard when he attempted to walk around the hood of the car. "You stand there."

He watched, curious, as she left him and walked towards the construction foreman. He was already waiting on her, having seen her car pulling up the rocky path. "Hey," she said, smiling up at him. All he did was flick his gaze from her to Travis, who was looking around nervously. He sighed, knowing. She arched an eyebrow. "You're the first choice." Not that she had to explain it.

He didn't say anything, but pursed his lips, and crossed his arms over his chest. The toolbelt he wore hung low around them and he waited a moment before he reached into one of the pockets and removed a piece of paper and a pencil, scribbling on it. He passed it to her. "Can't pay him more than that," he drawled.

I knew I wouldn't have to explain, she thought, smiling up at him. I never do. "Thank you," she whispered, folding her hands around the paper and smiling wider. "You're an angel."

He smirked. "You really don't know what an angel is." He looked back at Travis. "He's scared of me."

"They're all scared of everything," she said. They were terrified. Of their lives, of what would happen if they went back. Or if they didn't. If they could go back to the way things were. Or not. I'm good at my job, I can see it. I take the scared ones and I give them choices. I can see it, she thought again. She looked back at him, her voice quiet. "He's a good kid, he's…he was just following the crowd, trying to survive. He does coke a few times…gets popped with it…that cop that stopped him did the best thing that he could have done and arrested him before he went to join his buddies for armed robbery."

"Yeah," he sighed again, shaking his head. He smiled at her. "I don't care, you seem to see it."

"And you let me bring them here, so thank you," she whispered, reaching to rub at his forearm. She glanced over her shoulder and lifted her fingers up, beckoning for Travis to come to her. She pointed from him to his new boss. "Meet your new boss."

Travis looked from her to his new boss, blinking. "Seriously?" They always thought she was joking; most always they had never had real jobs. Just doing what they could to get by. This wasn't just of a real job, but it paid, which was what mattered, and was honest, which again, mattered. You also do things with your hands, she thought, and in the end, we all want to be satisfied that we've done something. Being able to see what you've done in a concrete…thing…well that did a lot to the psyche.

If of course, they managed to get beyond the sight of their new boss, who did nothing to welcome them. She glanced at Travis, who swallowed hard, taking in the sight. Yeah, he can be kind of imposing, she thought. In her opinion, it was the cold look in his eyes; he'd seen a lot and done a lot. This was his repayment to society for brining himself back. That's how she'd convinced him, a few years ago, when she began to bring him some of the cases that she thought were worth a bit of an investment. They now composed the majority of his workforce. She glanced at Travis and then back to him again. Say something, stop assessing him, you're freaking him out, she told him with his eyes.

After a few minutes of doing his own judging, he slowly dropped his fingertips from where he'd had them rested against his upper lip. He crossed his arms over his chest, his forearm flexing slightly. The panther tattoo that he now had around his left wrist seemed to move as he did, which she knew was on purpose. More intimidation. Finally, he spoke. "Can you work a saw?"

Travis shrugged, mumbling. "Did some construction work when I was fourteen. Summer jobs mostly."

A muscle twitched in Tim's jaw. He took a deep breath, glancing from her to the kid again. Thank you, she silently told him, knowing that he'd given in. "I can only pay you minimum wage. You manage to get two years in and you can apply to the local union and maybe get more, but you have to last two years. You show up at five tomorrow morning and you leave at five. It's long days, little pay, and I'm your boss, so you have that going for you. You come in high, drunk, whatever, you don't come back again." He finally paused, smiling slightly. "You're one of Tyra's charity cases, so I guess there's something in you that's worth saving."

He reached back into his pocket and she knew what he was going to take out next. It was a card, which he scribbled on the back of, and she knew what the number meant. The number ten. He flicked it towards Travis. "I don't care what you were in for, but you will go at ten tomorrow morning to this location. There's a meeting."

"I'm not a drug…" Travis began, but he stopped, swallowing his words at the eyebrow lift he got in return. From both of them. He sighed, nodding. "Fine," he mumbled. He turned it over. He looked up, immediately defensive. "It's a church."

Tim gestured towards frame of houses, ignoring that statement. "I have to close up shop now." He glanced at her. "You going to her next?"

I always go to her next, she thought, when have I changed the order I do this? "Yeah," she whispered. Travis had already turned, going back to the car, probably expecting they'd go back to his house, but he was in for a rude awakening. "Thank you," she said.

"Don't thank me. He's gone if he screws up."

"Says the screw up," she mumbled, kissing his cheek and patting his arm again. She smiled, walking back to the car. "Kiss your kids for me." That managed to get her a wider smile and he waved, turning around and returning to work. In the meantime, she got back in the car, looking over at Travis who was turning the card over and over in his hands. She glanced at the clock on the car. Just in time, she thought. "Are we going home?" he asked her.

"Not yet." Now it was time for choice number two. She drove him away from the site, through town again, and to the edge of East Dillon. She parked in the back, already seeing his eyeroll. They always rolled their eyes, they never realized that it wasn't what they thought. Even she had reservations when this choice was added to her repertoire, but now it was always included. "You can come in or you can go," she said, standing by the stairs leading to the door. "Your choice." This was usually where she lost them and for good reason. It's probably where she would have taken off if this had been an option for her.

He waited a moment. You'll decide, she thought. You're desperate. The options are there in front of you and you know what your future holds if you even think of ignoring what's laid out in front of you, even if it seems scary and daunting. Hell, I was there. I almost gave it up. I was close to giving it up. You'll decide, she thought, waiting. He hesitated and turned, before stopping and looking back up at the church.

Good boy, she said, turning around and going through the door, hearing him trudge behind her. They walked through the darkened corridors to the chapel, which was full of people. She stood on the edge of the doorway, looking up at the altar, where the minister was speaking. Something about forgiveness. "What is this place?" Travis mumbled, looking at her. "I don't go to church."

"I don't go to church either," she whispered. She scanned the congregation. The joke was that the church needed to change its name from St. Francis to "The Church of Battered Broken Things." That's who came here, because they were all accepted, no matter what you may have done or thought you were.

"This is weird."

"It's nice," she breathed, looking up at the pulpit, where the minister was finishing, speaking with conviction on how you had to forgive yourself for anything before you could begin to heal anything or anyone else. I think she knows, she thought, about forgiveness. Both sides of it.

"That a priest?"

"Priests are Catholic, this is non-denominational."

"Then is that a minister?" Travis mumbled, looking back at the pulpit. He shrugged. "She's kind of hot."

Yeah and she can break your neck with her thumb, she thought. "You're in church," she chose to snap at him, looking up at the woman in the white robe with a purple sash around her neck. Long dark hair was piled back at her neck in a twist, but there was a purple streak that was clipped behind her ear. She waited patiently, until the choir began to sing. She caught the minister's eye and then turned, walking out into the corridor and around the corner, Travis coming to stand behind her. He was curious, peering around her shoulder to look.

I know, in person she can be even more scary, she thought, crossing her arms and feeling the leather jacket she wore tighten over her shoulders. She nodded in greeting. "Lyla."

Lyla smiled at her and peered at Travis, her eyes widening slightly before she conducted her assessment. It was over in a second, her gaze flicking towards her. "This another case?" she asked. She smiled again at Travis. Without waiting for a response, she spoke, holding out her hand. "I'm Reverend Garrity. You can call me Lyla, you can call me Ms. Garrity, or you can call me Reverend." After she shook his hand, she crossed her arms over her chest again, staring straight at him.

Here it comes, Tyra thought, smiling at Travis. Good luck. Lyla scowled, her voice hardened. "I'm Ms., Reverand, or Lyla, I do not reply to Saint, to bitch, to whore, to slut, to hey you, or to anything other than those three names or variations thereof that I gave you, and you will address me with ma'am after everything. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Travis said. He got a narrow-eyed look from Lyla and dropped his eyes, mumbling. "Yes ma'am."

"Very good. Are you attending meetings?"

"Um…my boss…the guy, he said I have to come to one tomorrow at ten."

"Al-Anon…NA…" she drawled, arching her eyebrow. "Or all of them?"

Tyra smiled a little, her hands on her hips. "I think Al-Anon for sure. NA, to start."

Lyla nodded smartly. "I hold meetings downstairs every Saturday at 10 for NA. Six for Al-Alnon. You think I won't find out that you're not going to work you're sorely mistaken, I will. I don't convince anyone to come on Sundays or to my evening services, but if you want to attend you are more than welcome, I don't judge anyone and I don't begrudge them. You might be tired after your first few weeks on the job, that's understandable, my husband works you to the bone." She waited a moment and reached to touch her lips.

Tyra smiled, each time she saw the Hebrew characters on Lyla's inside wrist. It was a shock to her when Tim showed up with that Panther tattoo and another on his ribs. Then she saw Lyla. What killed her was the two of them had the same tattoo, they just got it at different times. It was how they lived and it was what she tried to teach her cases, as they called them. She glanced at Travis, who seemed to be making up his mind about it all. "You get another ten seconds," she said. "And you're done."

Finally he nodded, taking the second choice she gave him. "Okay, ten tomorrow."

"Don't be late."

They were very big on punctuality. "Thank you," she whispered, smiling at Lyla. She folded her hands into a prayer position and lightly bowed to Lyla. "Saint Lyla."

"Get out of here."

"Kiss your kids for me," she said, turning around and walking out. She stopped at the end of the hall, the door swinging shut behind Travis as he left to go back to the car. She stopped at the sound of her name and turned, smirking. "What? You don't get paid for this, you choice this career."

"And you chose yours." Lyla waited a beat, her frown deepening. "They're all different, what's this one got?"

I don't know, call it intuition or something. She shrugged. "They don't got anything," she said, purposefully using poor grammar to get a sneer from Lyla. She grinned. "What's it matter? You're going to help them anyway. We all do, for some reason." She left, going back to the car.

They drove in dead silence, finally stopping in front of a small bungalow in Travis's neighborhood. She reached into her bag and removed an envelope, passing it to him. "What's this?" he asked, taking it and reaching to open it.

"That's two-hundred in cash to tide you until you get your first paycheck. Use it for groceries," she said, thinking of his four little brothers and sisters. She scowled. "if I find out you used it for anything other than your family, I will put you back in juvie and I will make something stick so you don't get out two weeks later. There's also my card and Lyla's card. I've also given you a phone number for someone you haven't met today but will answer on the first ring if you need. That is your emergency contact."

"Why would I need an emergency contact?" Travis whispered, looking back at her. He smiled slightly, his voice dropping, hardly audible. "Thank you. For…everything."

Yeah. She quirked her lip up slightly. "That phone number is to Mrs. Taylor."

"Who is…"

"Doesn't matter. You call her if you just cannot possibly get hold of me, Lyla, or Tim. You call her if you are desperate and you need an out. She will give it to you without question." She reached into her bag and nodded towards his ankle. "Up." A moment later, the ankle monitor was around his jeans and was flashing a green light. "Good to go. Get out of my car."

He smiled, climbing out. He leaned down, folding his arms on the open window. It was freezing, letting in the cold air, but she just frowned at him. He shrugged. "Why are you helping me?" he asked, his voice quiet. Scared, a little, she imagined. They were all scared.

Because, she thought, looking at her hands and then to him again. She shook her head slightly, her voice soft. "Because someone helped me and it's my turn to do the same."

"This some charity thing for you?"

"No, it's me making sure the world doesn't turn into stupid people."

"You got a God complex then?"

She grinned. That wasn't the first time one of them had asked her if she had a God complex. No, I'm just stupid, she usually answered. Today though, she shrugged, turning to look out the window. A moment passed and she looked back at him. "I do this because if I didn't, you'd still be in a jail cell or possibly in a ditch. Would you rather I be here or you be there?"

He smiled a little. "You be here."

"That's what I thought. Now get off my car and get inside, it's freezing."

A grin pulled on his face. "Thanks Miss C," he whispered, knocking his knuckles on the inside of the door and then turned, running to the front door.

Yeah, yeah, she thought, waiting until he was safely in the house before she drove away. She didn't want to take the long way back to her house, so she headed out towards the middle of nowhere, pulling in behind a black truck and a black Jeep. She went up to the front door, not bothering to knock and walked in, thoroughly exhausted. It was late, it didn't feel late, how long did it take to get from the church to East Dillon and then back here? Geez.

"Aunt Tyra!"

She laughed, kneeling down to hug the pajama-clad little urchins running towards her. "Hey guys, oh you're getting so big!" She hugged both of them, kissing the tops of their little dark heads. She looked up when Lyla came into the doorway. "That was fast, you getting here."

"It's been a couple hours." She nodded her head to the hallway. "Go little monsters. Bedtime."

Wow, it did take a long time to get from Point A to B. She shrugged, hugging her little niece and nephew one last time before they ran down the hallway, asking her to read them a story. By the time I get a drink and to your rooms, you guys are going to be passed out, she thought, standing back up. "I need a drink," she said.

"I have a bottle of wine on the counter, help yourself. I'm getting them to bed."

Tyra went into the large kitchen, poured herself a massive glass of wine, and walked into the living room, where a fire was going, lighting up the room. She sank down on the couch beside Tim, who had a beer and was staring into the flames. "You okay?" she asked, patting his knee.

"Fine."

She took a few sips and then tossed her hair out of her eyes, her voice soft. "We do this because what would happen if people didn't do this for us, you know?"

"We're not the new Mrs. Taylor and Coach," he reminded her. He lifted an eyebrow. "For one, we're not married."

"I don't always use you," she said, drinking her wine. She shrugged. "Sometimes Landry helps. Sometimes Matt. Sometimes Julie. Sometimes people you don't even know, I've got a network of helpers."

"Tyra Collette's Game of Chance."

"Mindy calls it Russian Roulette. They have to make a choice. Do they want to take a chance on their lives or do they want to make a change, that sort of thing."

He sighed, patting her wrist and leaning in to kiss her cheek, whispering. "Well thank you for doing it." He stood up, walking over to Lyla and dropped a kiss to her lips. "I'm going to bed."

"Night Grandpa," she chirped, getting a dark look in return as he left the room. She sat on the ottoman across from her. "Guest room is ready if you want." She reached over and took the glass of wine, sipping and then frowned. "What was it with this kid tonight?"

I don't know, Tyra thought, I never know. I just…sense it. "Sixth sense," she answered, taking her glass back from Lyla. She smirked, holding it up. "What did anyone ever see in us, you know?"

"True. I wasn't one so much as you and Tim."

No, no she wasn't, but we've all…we've all kind of been in a situation where we'd never found ourselves. Making a choice that we'd never thought we'd make in some situations. Tyra shrugged, drinking for a few minutes before she looked back at Lyla, her voice soft. "You're a minister. I always thought you'd be out…drawing blood from people with your talons or something."

"I still do that to people who don't follow simple rules of living," Lyla whispered. She grinned. "And I have a doctorate in theological counseling. I'm pretty successful. People should be accepted. There should be a place for everyone, no matter…anything."

"And I'll give those people over to you," she chuckled. She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I wanted to go into politics. Now I'm a juvenile probation officer. Where did I go wrong?"

Lyla grinned, standing up slowly and shrugged. She went over to the fireplace, closing the grate up and flicked off the fan to let it burn out on its own. "You didn't go wrong, you probably just realized sometimes you get more done on a local level than anything else. You have more power and sway than you realize Tyra Collette. Have a good night."

And there you have it, she thought, remaining still on the couch as the rest of the lights went off in the house. Gosh it's not even nine-thirty, she thought with a groan, falling back against the cushions. She watched the flames for a few minutes, before she picked up her phone, checking messages. She frowned at one she'd just gotten; the phone's on silent, damnit, I forgot to change it.

She lifted it up to her ear, listening to one of her 'chances' beg her for help. Liz was in Midland and her boyfriend had hit her, she didn't know where to go or what to do. Liz had a drinking problem and IV drug habit. She wiped at her eyes and stood up, setting the wine glass in the sink and reached for a pen and paper, scribbling a note that she had to go to Midland.

Tyra tossed her keys in the air and left the house, climbing into her car. She took a deep breath and then backed out of the drive, heading towards Midland.


End file.
